I Fear the Light
by KwirkyWinter
Summary: The war is what tore Roth and Severus apart; but it's also what brings them back together. It's just that the first time around, they were young, reckless, and foolish. 18 years later, they're both teachers and think they know what to expect (and how to sneak around the castle undetected). But disorderly conduct is still a thing, and Voldemort is more powerful than before. SS/OC
1. Prologue

**Hi, peoples! Thanks for reading! Yes, I know that I am slacking on my other story, but I'll be getting back to that one shortly, so please don't hunt me down and proceed to murder me. **_**Gracias**_**.**

**Anyways, before I begin, I'd like to make sure that you know:**

**I'm going to try to keep this fic as canon as possible, but there **_**will**_** be some changes. (Mostly due to the addition of an OC)**

**The fic that you are currently reading is written from multiple points of views, so please be sure to check the POV before reading a new chapter.**

**Ok, now that I've gotten all that out, you'll never have to hear that much from me again.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would not currently be lacking in a golden plunger.**

**Enjoy!**

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."  
― Allen Saunders

_August 1996_

_Albus_

She was hard to find and even harder to talk to. She knew I was looking for her. And she stubbornly remained hidden, close yet far away, always one step ahead of me. I do not think that it was that she did not want to see me, to speak to me, but that it was because she was afraid of what I had to say. So the girl—no, _woman,_ now, steadfastly avoided me, and I have to say that I very nearly gave up. But they don't call me the Greatest Wizard of the Age for nothing. And no one, not even Roth Wilder, can hide from me forever. Needless to say, I eventually found and cornered her.

Obviously, she wasn't happy.

"What do you _want_, Professor?" Roth sighed, shaking her head. Her body is positioned to go, to sprint away from the doors to the Aurors' Offices. "I need to get home. P—"

I put a hand on her shoulder stopping her for just a second, but a second was all I needed. "Just give me a moment, Roth. I promise I will explain."

"I don't want to know. You've been following me around for the whole summer—"

"I needed to speak with you. You haven't been answering my letters."

"Maybe it's a 'no'. I already have a job, Professor, I don't need a new one."

I raise an eyebrow at this. "You just quit," I comment dryly.

She blushes at this, the ghost of a sheepish smile brightening her face just a little. "And I'll go find another one!"

I know that she won't. If I let her go, she'll leave and never come back. I need her. The Order needs her. The whole Wizarding World needs her.

"Won't you at least consider teaching? Think of it as a favor for an old man."

Roth frowns. "No, really, I'm sorry, but I can't. Besides, I won't make a good teacher…"

I shake my head, putting on an encouraging smile. "Roth, you are the most qualified Potions teache—"

"Potions? I was under the impression that I'd be teaching Defense!"

"There's been a slight change, but you're equally as capable. I'm confident in your abilities."

She steps back, and I see panic and uncertainty clearly written in the depths of her azure eyes. But she's thinking hard, too.

"Come on, Roth. Hogwarts needs you." I lower my voice. "Especially now, you know. The students—who is going to protect them? Who is more qualified than you to teach them all they need to know?"

"Surely you can find some other witch or wizard…"

"No one can top your Potions Mastery _and_ your experience as an Auror, you know that."

"No." She's angry now. "Why must you insist when the answer is so clear?"

"I'm not forcing you—"

"Sure." Roth rolls her eyes.

"—just hoping," I finish. "You, my dear, would be the best thing that has ever happened to our school."

"Professor Dumbledore, I believe that the best thing that has happened to Hogwarts would be _you_."

I smile, but am quiet.

"Besides, I don't have any teaching experience—none whatsoever. There must be better candidates than me. After all, the teaching post you are currently offering me is a job to die for."

"I am sure that there is _someone_ out there who is willing to take this post, but I want _you_ to do it. I don't doubt your abilities, Roth. This would be good for you." I pour everything I've got into these words, hoping, begging, that she'll at least pause and think about what I've said for a moment.

"Just consider it. Please." Her face is frustratingly blank, smooth from years of keeping secrets and telling lies.

"I already have—"

"No. _Really _think. You need a break."

"I—"

I continue to talk, raising my voice, drowning her out. People are starting to stare, but I pay them no attention. "No cooking, cleaning, doing—"

"YOU KNOW THAT I CAN'T!"

"—laundry," I finish lamely.

She glares at me, breathing hard. The poker face she had worn just a second ago has been discarded, tossed to the floor. Anger now replaces it, hot and red and painful.

I touch her shoulder. "I know that you can. I cannot just simply leave you to…" I stop, my voice fading out. I don't need to finish my sentence, we both know what I was about to say, and that's good enough. Roth drops her gaze to the floor.

"I want to."

"You shouldn't, and I can't very well let you do so in good conscience. Listen. You _can _do good."

"Can I?" Her words are hard, final. She does not expect an answer. She does not want one. Roth turns away and begins to stride towards the elevators. Her shoulders are tense, her fists clenched so tightly that all the blood has gone from them. She does not expect that I will follow her. She is wrong.

I chase after her, my arm gravitating towards her body. I shake my hand free from my sleeve, so that the shriveled black lump that used to be a functioning hand is in plain view. Then I bump it against her shoulder, hard enough to be mistaken for a punch. Roth turns around slowly, eyes narrowed. Her lips are bloody, no doubt a product of her anger. She opens her mouth, ready for yet another verbal battle. That's when she notices my charred fingertips, still frozen in midair. Her eyes widen.

"_Professor…_"

This is it. If my hand cannot convince her…nothing will.

"What happened? Did…did _he_ do it to you?"

It's been a long time since Roth has stuttered. That's a good sign.

"No, an old man's folly, I'm afraid."

"How…?"

I cannot resist saying what pours out of my traitorous mouth next. "That's a secret, you know. Classified information. Only the most privileged Hogwarts staff members can be trusted with this information…"

She looks at me. To my amazement, she burst out laughing, a bright, beaming, bubbly sound that was unexpected but so, so delightful. She hesitates, though, before she cautiously speaks.

"I guess I'll just have to join the staff, then…"

I expect a smile, but her worried eyes just creep back to my hand again. I quickly hide it in my sleeve.

"Really?"

"Is that not what you wanted?"

"It was just so easy, at the end. Why?"

"Why not?"

I shake my head. Sometimes, there are no answers.

"Professor, sometimes I think that _you _are the one who needs a break." She glances pointedly at my limp hand. "Is Severus taking care of you?"

"Of course."

"Right, then…"

"So I'll see you on August twentieth, I hope?"

This time there is no pause before she parrots the words 'of course' back at me.

**So, I hope you liked that…please let me know what you thought and leave a comment! Stay tuned for more!**


	2. Chapter One

**Hi, guys, thanks for reading! I really appreciate it.**

**Also, a HUGE thank you to Qoheleth, who pointed out that the quote in the previous chapter was not legitimate. That will be fixed shortly. **

**So…Enjoy!**

***I have edited this chapter due to the fact that is is too rushed and contains a number of cringe-worthy errors. :(**

**I have also accidentally deleted and then reposted this chapter, which makes it (sadly) not an update.**

** BUT IT IS FIXED! HUZZAH! :D**

**A new chapter is in the works, so...yep. Stay tuned!**

_Chapter Two_

_**Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.**_

_**-Bernard M. Baruch**_

_August 1996_

_Severus_

My face is impassive as I stare at Dumbledore. He looks back at me, eyes betraying his good mood. I, however, have no time for mind games today.

"What is it, Albus?" I snap.

"We have—ah—found a new teacher." He grins, almost arrogantly.

"For Defense, I assume." It is not surprising. Every year, the same meeting, every year, the same disappointment, dulled with time and experience.

He does not answer, choosing to simply smile back at me. I have had this conversation countless times. I know how it begins. I certainly know how it ends. He does not have to rub it in.

"No," he murmurs, pausing, hesitant, almost. "Potions."

My bowed head snaps up. "I don't believe I have heard you clearly."

"I have hired a new Potions Professor."

"Really? Then what will become of me?"

"I had thought that you would not ask," Dumbledore raises his eyebrows. "What do you think, Severus?"

"Seriously, Albus? After all these years? _Why_?" The last word is close to a snarl, a hard ball of anger and confusion. There is simply no reason, none at all, for so many rejects followed finally by this one...what would you call it? Acceptance?

Unsurprisingly, he remains calm. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He has a way of directing questions back at you, a way of leaving _you_ stuttering and tongue-tied.

"Yes. Thank you." But I am not much more thankful than I am confused. This is simply...weird, no doubt about it.

"But I must ask a favor of you, Severus..."

Of course. No gift comes without a price. "Anything," I say, because it is the only way to respond.

I shouldn't have agreed.

My next hour is spent listening, and regretting.

I am required to kill him. But I do not know if I really can.

Promises are really made to be broken, after all.

At the end, I stand up to leave, but when I reach the door, I turn back.

"The new teacher. Who?" I am not expecting anyone important, or that I know of.

"Wilder. Roth Wilder." Dumbledore says. I gaze dumbly at him. Then, finding no words, I nod and rush out the door.

Walking down the spiral staircase, I can hardly feel my body. Roth Wilder…she was my best friend…but also something more. I thought that we, of all people, would get a happily ever after, but I was a coward. I ran away. Joined the Death Eaters. She had no words when I told her. We haven't spoken since. Even now, I don't know what to say to her. I doubt she has anything to say to me.

For the first time, I don't know where I'm going. I wander the castle for hours, meandering into dusty hallways and forgotten classrooms. My feet lead me up and down staircases hidden deep in the bowels of the castle. Here, the walls are grimy with neglect, and the ceiling drips, creating gloomy black puddles on the dirty grey floor. Soon my shoes are as wet as the ground beneath me, but the hall goes on. I find myself thinking about Roth—someone who I believed I'd never see again. I'm not sure if that is good or bad.

We met on the first day of school. I had boarded that huge scarlet engine hopeful, but yet unsure. Lily was with me, flushed with an excitement only eleven-year-olds could ever possess, talking nervously about her hopes for the coming seven years. We settled down in a relatively quiet area of the train, unaware of any other passengers. It had been only two minutes before Roth untucked herself from the corner she was hiding in and introduced herself. And just like that, the three of us clicked. We were friends, best mates. And although we all belonged to relatively different groups—mine being nonexistent, we had still found time for each other.

Then fifth year came. Lily and I…we…you know what happened. Nothing Roth or I could do helped, and that was the beginning of the end. I recall thinking that I was _lucky_ to still have her, to still have Roth as a friend. She never judgmental, and I was so, so thankful for that. For two years, she was my best friend, my only friend. And I loved her. Maybe too much. Maybe in all the wrong ways. She was so good to me. Me, a dark, moody, dissatisfied teenager. Roth made me happy, kept me alive even when I was being bullied every day.

But I turned my back on her and joined Voldemort. I felt like I belonged. After all, what seemed like my whole House was going. I should've known better. _She_ was a Slytherin, too.

The night before I revealed my crooked path to her, I took her innocence and stole her heart. To be honest, she captured mine as well. I had thought that it would all work out. But I was young, naïve. How could I have been so blind? It was never meant to be. I had gotten in too deep with the Death Eaters, a group she was so firmly against. There is no happy ending. I wish there was.

A week later, we graduated. My two…friends…did not even say goodbye. Lily, I never spoke with again. And Roth? Perhaps, if I'm lucky, sometime in the future.

But true to my house, I'm afraid. Afraid of the words we do not have, of the sentences and paragraphs that have since become empty, awkward silences. I'd much rather keep away from Roth if it means not ever realizing that our friendship is irreparable. It probably is.

Warm. The air is warm. So different from the iciness I had been breathing just moments before. I look around, curious as to where my seemingly brief flashback has taken me. I'm walking up a flight of too-steep stairs, but yet it all feels familiar. I reach out to glide my hands over the smooth cool stones making up the wall, and that's when it hits me. The Astronomy Tower. My—no, our favourite spot years and years ago. I have not returned since graduation. Delving in the past has brought me here, a place of what I had thought were good memories, but now are too painful to even think of. It's a broken, hollow place for me.

Still, I trudge on. Maybe revisiting my figurative past will…I don't know. What could this do for me? This is stupid, I am stupid. Nothing will ever come from this place.

But I can't stop. I keep walking up, up, up. When I see a small spot of light ahead of me, it is all I can do to keep from running.

And then I'm out, fresh air swirling around me. It hasn't changed in the slightest since I was a student. The top of the tower is nothing more than a circular platform with stations for the pupils and their brassy bronze telescopes. It's windy up here. It always is. My hair whips around, obscuring my vision. I brush it aside, but it returns, stray strands getting into my mouth, poking into my eyes. I make my way to the edge, climb up on one of the ledges, content to enjoy the sunset on my own, just this once. The wind has stopped blowing.

"Severus Snape." The melodic voice that calls out is not mine. _It's hers._ I have not heard that voice in nearly two decades. I've missed it.

"I've been looking for you, you know." Roth is calm, quiet, even when there should have been so much rage and anger. I know that I deserve it.

"You—you have?" I don't know what I could possibly say after our history together. My head snaps to my right, and seeing nothing, I turn to my left. I don't know how I could've missed her before. I look at her, and she stares right back at me. Roth has aged incredibly well. I could've been convinced that time has stood still for eighteen years, clocks frozen in between seconds, weeks never ending. Her big Caribbean-blue eyes sparkle in the fading light, and a faint frosting of freckles still dust the bridge of her straight nose. There are no wrinkles, no worry lines. Her cheeks are pink even though it isn't cold. Those pink, pink lips almost curve in a smile. Instead, they flatten themselves into a thin line. A waterfall of wavy black hair frames her high cheekbones, her pointed chin. This is the only indication that anything has happened. The last time I had seen her, those raven locks had been chopped short and feathery, brushing against her chin, a gentle caress.

And then I notice the scars. Several fading on her neck, some fresh, new, and pink on what I can see of her chest. She holds too many in her hands, unwanted prizes from innumerable battles. There are probably more. It hurts, no, burns, to think of her pain.

I realize that I must still love her.

They say that you can feel a lover's wounds.

But we, we are not lovers. We never were.

One-night stands don't count.

Wish they did.

I do not hear what she says next, and respond with a, "Huh?"

"_Lesson plans, you dunderhead_," She hisses. "And that's not half the reason why I must talk with you."

She remembers. Who would forget? "Of course."

Roth starts to lead the way to her rooms, but halfway there, she stops short. "Shit" She exclaims, grabbing at her arm.

She frowns, closing her eyes in an attempt to block out the pain.

"What is it?" I ask, but by now I can see the crimson seeping out of her sleeve and staining her fingers bright red.

"Nothing, just a cursed knife wound, it'll heal."

"A cursed knife wound?! How? Wait, never mind. Here—look, let me see."

"No, no, it's fine."

She runs down the stairs and into the hall, trying to get away from me.

I chase after her, knowing that I need to make sure that she's okay.

"Hey—wait! I can help you!"

She ignores me, choosing to shout over my voice. "Our meeting will have to be rescheduled, how about tomorrow at five, is that okay with you? If it isn't we can change the time, it's just that I've really got to go, kind of in a situation— "

"A situation I can help you with." God, I love how she rambles. I've nearly forgotten how delightfully funny she was when she started talking and never stopped, only when she was in a hurry, or when she was happy, or when she really, really felt comfortable with you.

Why am I thinking about her rambling? It's not important.

Fine. It sort of is. To me.

Her voice is tight. "I'll just reapply the ointment and wrap fresh bandages around it, I'm fine."

I reach out to touch her shoulder. "Roth, I've got a potion." I smile, something that I've forgotten how to do. "It'll get better in half the time."

She stops, slim shoulders almost sagging. "I don't…you won't give up, will you?"

I quickly shake my head no, hoping she'll understand that this is the least I can do, given out history.

"I don't know why I am doing this, but fine."

She gets it. I know.

This time, I laugh. "You're infamous for being killer stubborn, but now…"

"You are a _git_. Bring your potion and your old lesson plans. My rooms are on the third floor. You will see a painting of a snowy landscape. Talk to the penguin. I will let you in."

I nod once and sprint off, genuinely worried about my friend. But what amazes me is that she doesn't seem very angry. Sure, she was a bit hostile, but at the end, Roth and I—it was almost, _almost_ like we never were broken. Or maybe, time has fixed us. Either way, I am grateful.

I arrive at Roth's quarters not five minutes later, gasping for breath, holding two glass vials and a pile of parchment to my chest. I'm not an athlete.

I stare at the silvery painting that hangs on the wall before me. Snow is blowing around, making it difficult to see inside. But I can make out the outline of a penguin waddling its way to me through the storm.

"Roth. Is Roth there?" The penguin nods once, and the wooden frame of the composition melts away, leaving a plain, wooden door in its place. I turn the knob and push the door open.

Inside, it is dark. The sun has set not too long ago, and only a faint glow spills inside from the windows. I see the silhouette of a woman in the corner, and head that way.

"Roth?" I crouch down next to her, and wave my wand, causing light to fill the room.

"I—I meant to do that." She gives a small smile, but her face is bloodless, paler than the moon hanging just outside.

"Oh, Roth, don't you ever take care of yourself?" I sigh. Even when we were children, Lily and I had seemed to care more about Roth than she did herself. She was all too reckless, unafraid. I had often teased her that she should've gotten sorted into Gryffindor instead.

"Not usually." She smiles. I can tell that she remembers, too.

"Here. Drink this. It's a blood replenishing potion." Her hand trembles as she tries to take it from me, so I hold it to her lips instead.

"Thanks, Severus."

"Mhm-hm."

Then, I take the roll of bandages from her hands and push up her sleeve. Her arm is a mess of sticky blood. Using my wand, I conjure a wet cloth and start cleaning her up. Then, I wrap the wound up tightly, the closest I'll ever get to gripping her hand. She's now strong enough to hold things on her own, so I hand her the second potion. While she drinks it, I magic up a cup of water. The taste won't be pleasant.

As expected she makes a face, and grabs at the water. Finishing, she asks, "What was that?"

"A potion of my own devising. It is designed to counteract most curses."

"It was horrible, but thank you. I'll go get my lesson plans, and maybe we could review them?"

She gets up, mostly steady, and I'm left staring at her as she leaves.

I stand, too, and clean up the puddle of blood she has left behind. Then, I walk around, casually surveying Roth's quarters.

The room is blue and brown, and very neat. The thing about Roth is that she's put-together, but forgetful. No matter how well she has organized her planner, she still manages to neglect assignments. It really doesn't help that she procrastinates. There's a bowl of fruit on a dark wooden table, and a kitchen. A sofa faces a fireplace. The coffee table she has chosen is glass and is piled with various magazines and academic journals. Her windows are stunning compared to what we've got in the dungeons, but my eyes are pulled to the mantelpiece, which is full of picture frames.

I look closer, and realize that many of the snapshots are of a little boy with wavy blond hair. How foolish was I to think that Roth hadn't moved on, married, started a family. But as I further inspect the photos, I realize the boy really doesn't look like Roth at all. They both may have curly hair, but Roth's is more on the wavy side while the kid's is more bouncy. The boy also had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, but the shape of the nose and face didn't seem right. The eyebrows were arched, the ears and chin different. His smile was an exact copy of Roth's own mischievous smirk, but the mouth was not the same. And the eyes. Roth's blue was definitely not in them. They were bright, bright green, greener than the healthiest of grass, so green they reminded me of radiation. Gamma green. Still. It hurt. A couple of photos show Roth, her son, and a muscular guy with hair of burnt gold. Her husband. Most likely.

A long time ago, I used to imagine. Imagine Roth and I getting married, living together, having children. I'd stay awake at night, thinking of a future, sketching what our kids would look like. A son would have dark wavy hair, her nose, my mouth. A daughter who was a carbon copy of her. But it was so long ago. I had thought I could fix things then. Now I do not even have a chance.

Unbeknownst to me, she has held my heart for all these years. And now it is broken, smashed beyond repair, a victim of the war called life.

She catches me looking at her pictures.

"Who's that?" I whisper, afraid to hear her answer.

"My son, Peter." She says it with a proud smile, one that all mothers possessed for their children.

My heart is broken for the second time in two minutes.

"He must look like you husband."

She pauses before she answers. "I'm not married."

Relief. That's all I feel. Then, I think of the only other way someone could have a biological child. So I gape.

_Maybe she's gotten divorced..._

"Adopted," she tells me. "He was abandoned outside of St. Mungo's."

Oh.

"So he's magical, then?"

"Yes. I doubted it at first, thinking maybe he was a Squib, but he's really proved himself." There's that smile again.

I love, love, love that smile.

"That's my best mate Steve," she points at one of the pictures, at the one with Mister Muscles.

"I had thought that he was your husband." Verbal vomit. I let out an internal groan.

She chuckles. "Nah, he's gay. Moved to the States a while back to live with his boyfriend, Tony. Walked in on them snogging, once."

"Wow. How old is he? Peter, I mean."

"Five."

"He lives here?"

"Boarding school in the States. I'd thought that Britain's too dangerous, with You-Know-Who and all, but now, I worry that he's too far away for me to protect."

She's upset, it's clearly visible.

"It's a good choice."

"I don't know…"

"Don't think about it. I'm sure someone will be there for him if he needs it."

"Steve said…"

"So Steve will keep him safe."

I quickly change the subject after that. I don't like the thought of Steve.

"Why don't we discuss teaching for a change?"

"Guess we should…" Her voice trails off, and I lead the way to the kitchen table.

I can't really tell what she's feeling, but inside, I'm bursting with joy. I still have a chance, after all.

**Wow. That was really long. I never can really write quite so much, so I guess I have something to be proud of. **

**If you spot any mistakes with the wording of things (I need help with my 'British') or if the quote is again inaccurate, please notify me.**

**Also, I'm in need of a beta, so if anyone's interested…**

**Any suggestions, flames, comments? Don't hesitate to review! Follows and favorites are much appreciated as well! **

**Lastly, can anyone spot the Easter Egg from another fandom? The first few people who get it right will be rewarded with a sneak preview of the next chapter!**

**Thanks for reading! **


	3. Chapter Seven Hundred and Forty-five

**Hi, guys! Sorry for the delay, but I was getting kinda busy...yep. **

**And if you didn't know, Chapter Two has been edited and is no longer a sucky piece of crap. Yay. **

**Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

_Chapter Three_

**_"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."_**

**_-Henry David Thoreau_**

_August 1996_

_Roth_

He sits straight as a soldier, back refusing to touch the chair.

He's smiling, but only very, very slightly.

Severus Snape.

How I've missed him.

But still, a part of me was dreading seeing my friend, my best friend again.

Because we did not leave school as friends nor as lovers. We graduated, eighteen years ago, on opposite sides of a dark and unpredictable battlefield, torn apart by an oncoming war. We were so stupid, so foolish.

Especially me. If only I had forgiven him back then. If only I gone to him when I saw what his real purpose was. But I was afraid. I didn't know if he still was...you know. For all I knew, I would lose even the very hope of friendship. And that loss hurts the most.

Everyone has to face their fears someday. I guess that my demons just attacked sooner rather than later.

I'm about to find out now.

I've forgiven him, but has he forgiven me?

"Funny thing is, I don't think I can properly discuss the curriculum without first talking about more...important matters." Severus' voice, a hesitant baritone, pierces the silence. His long legs stretch out beneath the table. I can feel his inky eyes staring.

He leans towards me, and his feathery raven locks brush against his pale, hollowed cheeks. He's gotten so tall. And so muscular. And so pale. He sounds lonely, too. Not for the first time, I feel guilty about turning my back on him.

"Yeah...better get this conversation over with," I murmur.

How can basic conversation be so simple but yet so difficult?

"It's long overdue," he jokes.

That's my Severus. The one from...from...before. Before's a good word. Before's that time when you had no regrets.

"Yes it is," I agree.

He pauses. Our eyes meet. His are not black, like I've thought for all these years. They're actually a deep, dark blue, as if a piece of the lake outside had found its way into those cool, calm eyes of his.

I cannot believe that I have never noticed this.

"I'm sorry, Roth."

"For what?"

"Those last two nights...and for being a coward. Wanting to fit in."

"It's okay, Sev. I could never be angry about a one-night stand, you know."

"But what about...my career choice?"

"You've obviously cleaned up your act, haven't you?"

"No, no. Honestly. What you really thought about me becoming a Death Eater."

"Hmm...Furious, I guess. Disappointed. I felt abandoned. Betrayed. Lost. I had Lily, but she was killed. Then I was alone.

Afterwards, since I was in the Order, Dumbledore told me about your part in the war...I'm so proud of you, Sev. To risk your life like that...and to continue doing so..."

It's silent for a long while.

Then, "Do you regret it? That night, when we...slept together?" I don't know what he's thinking.

"No. Never." I am painfully honest. It feels good.

**This chapter is really short. Sorry. :( **

**I was actually contemplating adding another part to it, but at the end I thought that it would've been too awkward. On the bright side, this means that I'll be updating soon!**

**Thanks for all your comments, favorites, and follows! **

**Lastly, if anyone's interested in beta-ing this story...well, just leave me a message. (Kinda desperate here.)**

**HAVE A NICE DAY! :)**


	4. Chapter Three

**I have returned. Hooray. Now, on to the chapter! **

**Enjoy!**

***This is an edited version of Chapter Three. (Due to the fact that I have to edit everything at least five times, even though it's already posted.) Also, I've added a whole bunch of stuff to the end of the chapter. You might want to read it.**

_Chapter Three_

"_**Remember tonight…for it is the beginning of always."**_

_**-Dante Alighieri**_

_September 1996_

_Roth_

I've really underestimated this job.

Sure, I knew that teaching was no easy feat, but I honestly hadn't expected for it to be this difficult this early on either.

Who knew choosing the right set of robes to wear to the Start of Term Feast would be so painfully hard? In theory, it shouldn't be. It wouldn't be. But when thoughts of representation and image throw themselves into the already complicated mix, it makes everything that much more confusing.

It also doesn't help that I have no recollection whatsoever of what my old professors would wear on the first day of school.

Frowning, I eye the contents of my wardrobe unhappily. I don't want to appear too strict or conservative…and definitely not to slutty, I think, pulling out several sets of dress robes, all too drab or proper. There is, however, some horrid frilly thing among the somber robes I'd like to think that I bought on a dare. The pile at my feet grows as I become increasingly impatient. There seems to be nothing at all in there that suits the occasion. I should've really thought ahead and ordered something…but it's too late now. I sigh and continue sifting through the pile of robes still hanging limply in my closet. There's got to be something at least half suitable for a school feast…

Finally, I tug a forgotten blue lump of fabric out of the depths of the wardrobe. It looks rather sad and limp, but once I shake it out, it's actually quite nice. Or as good as it gets, anyway. I clean it up a bit with a simple spell and make a few adjustments. Then I slip it on and step in front of a mirror for a quick evaluation before leaving for the Great Hall.

Not to be vain, but the set of robes I've found is great, much to my surprise. I was expecting something merely passable, but this actually works. The neckline is not constricting, but not revealing, either. The royal blue outfit itself isn't overly extravagant, but it's far from drab. It flows nicely over my body, and the sleeves thankfully hide the bandages wrapped around my knife wound.

A quick glance at the clock tells me that I'm close to being late. Cursing, I sprint towards the door, thinking that I might've been a lot quicker if I had only taken the time to organize my closet when I first arrived. Neatness. It's always been a problem.

As I rush down the corridor, though, I'm called back by none other by Severus Snape, who has been waiting patiently by the door.

"You could've come in, you know," I say.

He ignores me, though, and jumps right to the point. "Roth. You're late," he sighs, fondly exasperated. "As usual."

He starts to walk briskly down the hall and I follow, making sure to keep up with his long strides.

"I had no idea what to wear to the Feast," I protest.

"Do you mean that you couldn't _find_ what to wear to the Feast?" Severus asks, smirking slightly.

"Kind of…" I admit grudgingly. "It was more of a time-management problem…and the fact that I have too many dress robes, each more unsuitable for the occasion than the last."

"Of course. You look fine, though."

"Thanks."

"So getting a real job didn't teach you _any_ organizational skills?" He doesn't seem surprised, but asks anyways.

"Some things never change, Severus. Teaching for nearly two decades hasn't gotten you to be less critical, has it?"

"No, teaching has made me more critical. Do you honestly expect for me to teach a group of dunderheads who are constantly mucking something up and not notice when something is not being done correctly? And please, do not get me started on a rant about their cringe-worthy grammar. Especially—"

"Alright, I know!" I grin.

"Do you? Let just remind you that you begin teaching tomorrow…"

"Always the pessimist, are you?"

"Some things never change, Roth."

"Actually, I'd be surprised if you actually looked on the bright side of things for once," I retort hotly, but not unkindly. "You've been the glass-half-empty type of person since the day we met."

"Yes, I clearly recall worrying that the train would break down." Severus replies smoothly. "But I also remember a certain black-haired witch who'd forgotten to pack her school robes." He grins in satisfaction.

I open my mouth to make some witty comment when we're interrupted by a large silvery thing barreling down the corridor.

"A Patronus," mutters Severus.

A large, faintly glowing, grey wolf stops in front of us and Tonks' voice floats from it.

"_Harry was injured on the train. He's now with me at the gates."_

Severus raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.

"Harry…Potter?" I ask.

Severus nods. "Arrogant like his father…kind of."

"I hope not…should we go meet Tonks and Harry?"

"No, I'll go alone. You should get to the feast. It'll do you no good to be late on the first day."

"See you, then."

"Right…well, bye."

He turns towards the left and I waste no time rushing to the Great Hall, my shoes clicking loudly in the silence.

Unnerved by the quiet, I find my thoughts drifting towards Severus. Since my arrival and our reunion, we have fallen easily back into the same comfortableness of our seemingly damaged friendship. I hadn't expected it to be quite so easy, given the length of out separation, but am grateful that it was. There is still some awkwardness, which can be ignored for the most part, and, of course, some unmentionable subjects. But it's a small price to pay for something loads better. After all, I really don't think I could cope well with the tension.

Sometimes, though, I can feel the old guilt for ignoring him for so long gnawing at me…

Maybe we could've kept in touch…

I push the thought to the back of my head and continue on, now hearing other voices close by.

And then I'm there.

The Great Hall. Its grandeur wipes every other thought from my mind. It hasn't changed, but the thrill of seeing it after so long is exhilarating. I cannot help but stare at the star-speckled ceiling and gaze admiringly at the perfectly curved arches adorning the walls and holding the 'sky'. Its vastness is astounding as well. The room stretches from the Staff Table all the way to the Entrance Hall, somehow managing to fit four long House tables and still appear roomy.

Out of habit, I start towards the Slytherin table, but catch myself before anyone notices. Quickly, I turn, hurrying to the long staff table at the front of the room.

"Almost late, but not quite," Dumbledore chuckles from behind me.

I smile in greeting. "Albus."

"Lovely for you to join us." Ever the gentleman, he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit down. "The Potions Master—excuse me, Mistress, usually occupies this seat."

"Thank you." I settle into my seat and Dumbledore walks away to his spot in the middle of the grand table.

The other teachers have already been seated and are talking among themselves, obviously at ease and comfortable at the front of the Hall. I, however, nervously look around, searching for a familiar face. I see Dumbledore two chairs down, leaning over an empty seat to chat with a frazzled, buggish woman covered with jewelry. I don't recognize her. Binns, the old ghost, hovers at the edge of the table, a book opened in front of him. Professor Vector, an apparently strict teacher I remember from my last year at Hogwarts, is stiffly seated and staring straight ahead, making eye contact with no one. All the others look unfamiliar, among them being a handsome centaur and a young blond woman. Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Severus are missing. If only Severus was here. I could have used someone to talk to.

Suddenly, the huge doors at the end of the Hall fly open, and a loud, eager stream of students pour in, excitedly making their way to their respective tables. I feel their judging eyes on me, and I clench my muscles so I won't squirm. I try to sit up straighter, to look more confident and less awkward. But I know I'm new and different, and I used to stare at _my_ new teachers, too. Being in the newbie's shoes, though, is a whole other story.

Eventually, the students settle down and quiet themselves to a muted buzz, although I can still hear a few comments and questions about 'the new professor'. I continue to attract several not-so-subtle looks.

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall appears with the first years soon after, taking most of the attention off me. Instead, the school is now drawn to the pale, frightened line of fifty-odd children, who, I must say, cannot be much more scared than I am. Fortunately for them, they don't have to teach, patrol, and on top of that, grade papers. Their only job is to show up for classes and do homework. That sounded like a lot of work to me, too, but that was before realizing that for every one assignment I was given, my teacher had over twenty.

I can already feel a heavy red quill in my hand and the effects of sleep deprivation.

Damn, I'm getting old.

As soon as the eleven year olds are properly organized, Professor Flitwick brings the old, brown, and tattered Sorting Hat in. He sets it on a stool and quickly rushes into his seat to the left of Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall stays behind and looks sternly at the saggy hat. As if it could see the Deputy Headmistress's strict glare, the Hat bursts into song.

The song itself surprises me. It's eerily similar to the one I heard in my seventh year, a dark warning of danger, but also a message to promote togetherness. Either way, it scares me. I know what it means. War. Danger. Death.

"Connors, Venus," McGonagall announces upon the song's end.

A short, skinny, dark-haired boy steps up shakily to the Hat and stares at it. Then he slowly picks it up and jams it on his head. Both the Hat and the boy sit there silently for a minute or two. Then the Sorting Hat roars, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor Table bursts into applause and a wild chorus of hoots and shouts. Looking quite pleased with himself, Venus Connors walks steadily over to his new House table, where he is welcomed by his older housemates.

When the noise has died down, McGonagall calls the next name. "Davidson, Madelena!"

A confident looking ginger struts up to the stool and sits down, placing the Hat carefully on her neatly combed hair.

Almost immediately, the Hat shouts, "RAVENCLAW!"

The clapping and cheering starts up again and the girl happily hops off her seat.

Suddenly, instead of Madelena, I see Peter, six years from now, eagerly awaiting his own Sorting. What would he be like at eleven years old? Taller and stronger, obviously. But would he still be infatuated with Muggle fire trucks? Would he still like drawing? What House would best suit Pete?

With a horrible pang, I realize that Peter may not even have the chance to attend Hogwarts. Who knew what Voldemort could achieve in just six short years? In just over half a decade, he might be running the Ministry. There was a chance that the entire Order would be dead or in hiding, I among them. How long until Voldemort ruled the Wizarding World? If I died, who would be there for my son? _Keep fighting_, I tell myself. _The war is far from over. No one has won yet. _Still. There always is a possibility.

"Not hungry?"

Startled, I jump in my seat and whip my head around in search of the source of the question.

Professor McGonagall gives me a rare smile and gestures to the steaming food sitting on the table.

"Oh, um, actually, I'm starving, Professor." I say, pushing my lips into a halfhearted grin.

"Minerva. We're colleagues now." She looks at me for a moment. "Is something bothering you?"

"If you're Minerva, then I'm Roth." I insist. "And nothing's wrong. Just…you know, nervous about teaching and all that. I mean, I have to live up to your standards!" I know I'm lying, but I just can't tell the truth.

"It's fine, Roth. I'm sure you'll be an excellent teacher."

"I don't know. Classes haven't even started yet, Prof—uh, Minerva."

"You've always been excited to learn. It's the eager learners who make good teachers."

"Thanks."

"Just remember to assert that you're in charge. Some of the less…studious students will try to take advantage of you. Seeing that you're a new teacher and all."

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Just…were you nervous, too? You know, when you started teaching here?"

She laughs lightly. "Of course. Who wouldn't be? It's a big responsibility, but it's also very rewarding."

I nod. "I'm really excited."

"You should eat. The food is getting cold."

"Right." I pile food onto my plate.

"Good luck." Minerva nods once, already turning towards Dumbledore.

"Thanks."

I pick at my dinner, neither hungry nor full. Would everything be better if I lived somewhere else, sometime other than now? Or would it be the same, war-torn and confusing? But then again, I wouldn't really want to live a life that wasn't my own. I'd miss my friends, Hogwarts, and Peter. You can't miss what you never had, but you can sure as hell know what's been taken away if it's something you treasure. My meal is finished in silent contemplation.

Just as the main course melts from the table and the dessert appears, Severus slides into the seat beside me.

"Took you long enough," I grin.

"Yeah, long walk." He mutters. "Dammit, the potatoes are gone."

"At least there's still dessert." I happily grab a treacle tart.

"You know that I hate dessert."

"True." I shrug.

Severus grudgingly takes a jiggling block of red jelly.

"So, Roth, have you gotten to talk to anyone yet?"

"Yep. Profes—um, Minerva. She was just giving me a few tips."

"You should socialize more. There's some erm, _interesting_ people."

I drop my voice. "They can't be that bad. I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"You'll see." He smirks.

"Sure." I say dryly. "Sure."

I reach for another sweet, but the food disappears. Groaning, I slouch back into my seat.

"Ha." Severus crosses his arms, triumphant.

"Just because you hate sugar doesn't mean everyone—"

"It's just funny."

"Suurreee." I draw out the word as sarcastically as possible. "Incredibly. Ha. Ha. Ha."

"You know what? I've missed arguing with you, Roth."

"You call it arguing?" I laugh. "I call it picking a fight!"

"Whatever it is, I'm happy to be doing it again." He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the sound of Dumbledore's chair scraping the ground as he stands up. The white-haired man spreads his arms wide in a gesture of welcome, revealing a thin, pale hand and a twisted, black one. The students immediately gasp and start whispering among themselves. It takes a few moments for them to quiet down again, the last of the murmuring fading away like a slow summer wind. However, the Headmaster continued as if nothing at all had happened, dismissing the mumbles and the stares, still smiling placidly. But when I looked, I saw that the man had shaken his sleeve over his hand.

Dumbledore easily goes through the typical start-of-term greetings and the expected list of prohibited items, as determined by Filch. I tune in and out of his ramblings, only to snap to attention when he begins announcing the staffing changes.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year—Professor Wilder—"

I raise one hand and give a small half-smile.

"Professor Wilder has worked with me closely many times over the years and is more than happy to take the post of Potions Mistress."

The students start chattering again, filling the room with an annoying buzzing that only increases in volume.

"Potions? Potions?" The kids echo, wondering if their ears had deceived them. "No, it can't be…"

This time, Dumbledore doesn't wait. "Meanwhile, Professor Snape will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts." He shouts.

The pupils get even louder. The Slytherins start whooping and clapping while the rest of the school is clearly confused and want answers.

"I don't think we're very popular," I whisper to Severus, sweeping my eyes over the angry student body. "Do they have something—"

"No, Roth. I think that it's just me who's rather infamous. I don't think they approve of the changes."

"Duh."

"Don't worry. They won't hate you." Severus pats my shoulder, just like old times. And if his hand lingered, I doubt he noticed.

The hall eventually is silent again, and Dumbledore suddenly stops smiling.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

Most of the students flinch or shift uneasily in their seats, casting their eyes toward the dirty ground beneath them.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

To the old man's credit, he interrupts them with a renewed twinkle in his electric eyes and a fresh grin. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

In a swirl of sound, everyone gets up and starts moving toward their respective dorms. I start to stand, but Severus holds me back.

"Wait. Remember?" He looks at me, eyes shining with hidden emotion.

I do remember. As students, we'd always been the very last ones out of the Hall, preferring to wait until the corridors were completely empty until slowly ambling back toward the dungeons. The last time, we hadn't gone back at all. Things were…simpler then. Not better, but life had been easier. More carefree. I wonder if I could ever achieve that again.

"Of course." I stare back at him, taking in the harsh new lines of his face and those ageless eyes.

"We'll be okay," he mutters.

"Yeah," I whisper back, blowing the word as if it were a delicate cloud. "I think we will."

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